


Reflect What You Are

by Owenjones



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Crowley goes to therapy, Depression, Dialogue Heavy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owenjones/pseuds/Owenjones
Summary: It's a year after the almost-apocalypse. Aziraphale makes Crowley go see a therapist.“Have you been having any issues in particular?”“Issues? Such as?”“You tell me.” She could tell he had something on the tip of his tongue.Crowley sat for a second, then blurted out, “He thinks I’ve been sleeping too much. He’s worried.”





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley spread his legs out over two chairs and rested his elbows on his knees as he waited. The waiting room was far too calm. Suspiciously so. It had all the neutral colors and softness of the bookshop, but the eerie sense of being unlived in like his flat. A few other people sat among the chairs sprinkled around, but no one made a sound or even moved. The Bach playing softly only made him feel worse. This place was supposed to make him feel relaxed. And yet, here he was, unnerved beyond belief. 

He chalked this up to something inherent in his demon physiology. He liked spooky, not whatever-this-is. He might feel better if the radio changed to a classic rock station, and he almost did that with a flick of his wrist, but he changed his mind at the last second. When he had raised his hand to perform the miracle, he saw it quivering. He hadn’t even realized until then. 

There was still time to leave, he supposed. He hadn’t committed to anything yet. Nothing was stopping him from walking out the door, getting in his Bentley, and driving home. None of the other people waiting would say anything, that’s for sure. They wouldn’t even look up. 

“Anthony?” A voice broke him out of his thought spiral. He jolted in his seat, looked up, and saw a short woman looking expectantly at him.

“Yes. That’s me.” He coughed. 

“Come in please.” She gestured towards the door. He willed himself to stand and follow her direction. The door opened to a hallway, and he was led to the door all the way at the end. Inside her office had similar hotel-like vibes to the waiting room. At least the couch looked comfortable. 

“So nice to meet you, Anthony.” She held out a hand for him to shake, and he did, “I’m Dr. Joyce. Please take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. You can take off your sunglasses if you like.”

“Nah I’ll keep ‘em on.” 

She nodded as he settled into the couch, “Before we begin, I need to inform you of a few things. First of all, anything you say in here will be confidential, unless you say you’ll hurt yourself or someone else. I work mostly in talk therapy, but I am trained in cognitive behavioral therapy as well, if you have a preference. Also, I will be taking notes on what you say, if that’s alright with you. Do you have any questions?” Crowley nodded.

He sprawled himself on the couch as much as he could, but still found himself sitting somewhat stiffly, “How do I know that you’ll actually keep everything to yourself? You could be lying to me.”

She smiled, “I assure you I am not. I’m bound by a certain code of ethics. If I were found to be telling people about my clients, I could have my license revoked. I’d lose my job.”

“Good, good. And what if I lie to you?”

“It’s actually more common than you’d think. But it’d be fairly pointless. The only person that would be hurting would be yourself. Anthony, I encourage you to be open and honest so that you’ll get the most benefit out of this. Anything else?”

“Nah.”

“So, what brings you in today?” 

“Well-- My… friend suggested it. Wasn’t my idea. I’m not sure I’ll like it, to be honest. Doesn’t really seem like my kind of thing.” He shrugged.

“What caused your friend recommend therapy?” 

“He’d been reading too many things. He gets stuck on certain ideas, then pours hours of research into it. Reads himself into a tizzy and fancies himself some kind of expert. I mean, he is, in certain things, but not in mental health. Definitely not. His head’s the one that should be examined, not mine. I’m perfectly fine, I’ve always been fine.”

Dr. Joyce had been writing down notes the whole time he babbled, and he vaguely wondered what was so interesting about the nonsense he said. He paused to let her finish her notes. She prompted him again, “Have you been having any issues in particular?” 

“Issues? Such as?”

“You tell me.” She could tell he had something on the tip of his tongue.

Crowley sat for a second, then blurted out, “He thinks I’ve been sleeping too much. He’s worried.” 

This must have been significant, as it started a flurry of notetaking “How long has this been happening?”

“Oh, my whole life. On and off. Sometimes I sleep about a century, and other times I can barely get myself to close my eyes.”

“This recent trend that your friend noticed, how long has that been going on for?” 

“‘Bout six months.”

“And have you been feeling particularly fatigued?”

“Yeah… It seems no matter how much sleep I get, I’m never well rested. I’m always tired. I get so tired that I can’t even move sometimes. And then I end up staying in bed for days on end, until my friend invites me out to lunch or something.”

“And how’s your appetite been recently?”

“Never really had much of one. I only really eat when I’m with that friend. He enjoys eating far too much, makes me try every fancy little restaurant or cafe he’s discovered around London. Besides that, most of the calories I get come from alcohol.” Maybe that hadn’t been the best thing to say if he wanted to convince her that he was perfectly fine, judging by the expression on her face. He continued, nevertheless, “But-- I’m fine. I’ve always drunk a lot. Lots of people do. People get drunk every day.”

“Do you get drunk every day?”

“Depends.” She was quiet until he followed that up. He waved his hand searching for an explanation, “Depends on… if I’m sleeping or not.”

“You drink when you can’t sleep?” 

“Well, yeah. Nothing else to do, is there?” 

“There’s a lot of options out there. What hobbies do you have?”

“I drink. I keep plants-- well I used to keep plants. Mostly now I watch TV. And when there’s no good shows on, I’ll just drive around with some music. Got a huge collection. I’ll go bother my friend if I’m particularly bored, invite him out for a picnic maybe.” 

“Tell me about your plants.”

He winced, “Well, they were the best ones in all of London. Honestly, looking at them used to make me sorta proud. Happy, even. I had a whole room dedicated to my plants. All kinds. They were beautiful, I kept at them for years, I talked to them every day. I used to, uh, let out my stress. Yelling at them and all that.”

“What made you stop?”

“Ngk -- I threw them all out. All at once. Haven’t gotten the nerve to go buy some more.”

“Why not?”

“Just can’t. I dunno if it’s because I’d be starting from scratch.”

“Are you afraid you’ll throw them out again?”

“Yeah.” Crowley rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses, trying to push the image of broken pots, dirt, and torn up leaves out of his head. 

“And when was this?”

“Six months ago. And before you ask, yes, I started sleeping a lot more after that incident in particular.”

“What was going on in your life six months ago?” 

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing to do but sleep.” 

“Okay, then how about further back?”

“How far?”

“As far back as you want. Tell me about your childhood.”

Crowley scoffed, “Don’t see how that’s related to my plants. So, so, so long ago.” 

“Events in your formative years can be quite powerful.” She sat back and gave him space to remember.

“I don’t actually… Well, I don’t remember a lot from back then. Never really fit in though.”

“What was your family like?”

“Arseholes.” He said quickly, fidgeting in his seat, “Very, very, very religious. Not the love-thy-neighbor type either, more like _we’ll kick you out if you think the wrong thoughts_. I was a little too creative in all the wrong kind of ways. I asked a few of the wrong questions, talked to a few of the wrong people, and that was it for me. Boom, I was gone. Cut off.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Anthony. That must have been very difficult for you. What did you do after?” 

Crowley shrugged, “Got picked up by the wrong crowd, I guess. They gave me a job, a place where I belonged. Problem is, I didn’t really fit in with them either. I tried to, though. Thought, you know, fake it till you make it. Stuck around with them for far, far too long. Then, maybe about a year ago, I got thrown out of there too. They finally realized I wasn’t who they thought I was.” 

“And how do you feel about that?”

“It was a long time coming, I guess, but still, very strange to be without them. I never did like any of them, but I’m still missing them in a weird way. How can you feel bad about a good thing? I don’t know, I think I should be over it by now.”

“You lost a good chunk of your social support very suddenly. That would be a difficult transition for anyone. Do you feel lonely?”

“Oh, all the time.” Crowley suddenly snapped his head up from where it had been cradled in his hands, “Wha-- wait a minute. How did you make me to talk about all that. I haven’t even told my best friend some of that stuff.”

“I didn’t make you do anything. You’re free to talk about whatever you like.” 

Crowley crossed his arms, “I don’t really think this all is my scene. Think I’ll be off. Was worth a shot, though.”

“May I ask a few questions before you decide to leave?”

“Fine, whatever,”

She looked down at her notepad and made checkmarks and notes with every one of Crowley’s answers, “Within the past few weeks, have you had feelings of hopelessness or emptiness?”

“Sure.”

“Have you had difficulty concentrating on tasks?”

“I guess.”

“Any feelings of worthlessness or guilt.”

“Pfft yeah.”

“Have you been more irritable than usual?”

“For sure.”

“Feeling restless, on edge, or anxious?”

“Yes.”

“Have you had any thoughts of suicide?”

“Well… yeah,” He admitted, “I mean, in the past-- a very long time ago -- years ago-- I might’ve had some thoughts. And the means. And a plan. And I almost went through with it, but it’s all off now, honestly.” 

She looked up at him, sympathy swirling in her eyes, “Anthony, I think you have depression.” 

He left the clinic feeling blank. His hands full of pamphlets, another appointment booked for the next week.


	2. Chapter 2

He was still on edge about the place the next week, but less so now that he found everything in the waiting room was in the same place. Even all the same people waited alongside him, all in the same spots. He supposed they had a routine. It was somehow slightly comforting to him. Dr. Joyce had seemed pleased to see that he had returned. That he managed to walk into the building even surprised himself. But he’d promised both her and Aziraphale that he’d come back. And he’d be blessed if he didn’t keep his promises. 

Crowley settled into the couch, leaning back further than he had the week before. He hooked an arm on the back of the couch and got comfortable.

“I’m very glad to see you again. How are you doing?” She started.

“Fine, as always.” He smiled, “Just had a phone conversation with, uh, with my friend. He had to convince me to leave my car to come in here.”

“He sounds like a good friend.”

“Yeah, known him forever.”

“What was stopping you from leaving your car?”

“Uh, well. I was shaking a bit. Kinda embarrassing. Couldn’t really walk either.”

“Anxious?”

“Oh yeah.” He said breathlessly, “But I was fine when I got to the, uh, waiting room. Just feeling a bit worn out.”

“What were you thinking about?” 

“Dunno really. Not sure if I want to learn more ways that I’m broken…”

“Let me stop you there, Anthony. You’re not broken.”

“That’s what depression is though. My brain is broken, right?”

She sighed, “Therapy isn’t about pointing out everything that’s wrong. We aim to help you grow and find more fulfillment in your life. And, your brain is certainly not broken. Depression is a reasonable cognitive, emotional, and physiological reaction to the sorts of rejection you have faced in your life. And I know it’s tough, but it's something that can be managed and treated with the right kind of help.”

“Okay.” Crowley said, not quite believing her. 

“Let’s shift topics. You’ve mentioned your friend quite a lot, why don’t you tell me a little about your relationship with him?”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah, Aziraphale’s the best thing in my life, really. He’s just good in every way. Far, far too good. Plain and simple. Well-- not so simple actually.”

“Why not?”

“He works for my, uh family.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah. He’s not really like them though, only fits in just enough to skate by.”

“I suppose that’s why the two of you bonded. Both of you don’t exactly fit in?”

“You could put it like that, sure. He’s the only person I feel like I can be normal around. But, I worry… I don’t want to let him down.”

“Why would you let him down?”

“I could make him… bad.” Crowley sunk into the couch and looked at the ceiling, “I’m not good. He is. I’m bound to rub off on him at some point. Corrupt him.”

“Why wouldn’t it work the other way around? Maybe he could rub off on you.” 

“I suppose.” He said halfheartedly.

“Why do you think you’re such a force for corruption?”

He scoffed. If only she knew he was the original corrupter. “Everyone kicks me out eventually. I can take a hint. Sometimes I think he just hasn’t seen the real me yet. That one day he’ll realize and he’ll never speak to me again. Then that’d be the end of everything.”

“You’ve been friends with him how long?”

“Forever.”

“And you think he doesn’t know the real you?”

“Well. I dunno. Silly, I guess.” 

“Think of it objectively, if you can. If anything were to make him want to leave, he would’ve probably seen it already.” She paused for a second, “But we also need to address the way you talk about yourself. Why do you think you’re so bad?”

Crowley shrugged, “I just am.”

“Nothing is ever so simple, is it Anthony?”

“I’m just bad, alright? Bad soul. Bad brain, obviously. I’ve done loads of bad things, badly.”

“Bad things done badly would be good, wouldn’t it?” She joked.

“Oh shut up… I mean-- shit -- sorry… See what I mean!” Crowley gestured to himself, “Bad, bad person. Rude.” He babbled.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.”

“Don't-- I -- Ngk,” Crowley’s eyes were welling up a little at this point. Somehow even with the sunglasses, Dr. Joyce could tell. She placed a tissue box discreetly next to Crowley and sat back down. He didn’t touch the box, and just let the tears run from his eyes. The room was silent except for some sniffling for quite a while.

After a moment, the therapist spoke softly, “What’s on your mind?”

“Ah… nothing really. Just that -- that phrase. Forgiveness and all that. I’m unforgivable, I really am, and I told him -- Aziraphale -- that. We were having a stupid argument. But, he forgave me anyway, despite everything.”

“Why do you say you’re unforgivable.”

“Just am.”

“I forgive you. Aziraphale forgave you.”

Crowley rubbed his eyes, but the tears just wouldn’t stop, “Something happened the day of that conversation.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I… I think I do. If it’ll stop all this nonsense,” he said, pointing to his wet face. He took a deep breath, “To hell with it, I thought he died that day. We had a fight. I was on my way to apologize. I came to find him… and his shop was all up in flames. I ran straight into the fire, I didn’t care, I just had to find him. But it was too late. He was gone, and I couldn’t save him.” He gulped, “He was alright in the end, he wasn’t home. He, hah, he didn’t even know about the fire. Heartbroken when I told ‘em. You know, I thought he was a ghost when I saw him. Or that I was so sad I snapped and started seeing things. But, he was alive alright. Fuck.”

“How did that event affect you?”

“I thought it didn’t at first. I was fine after the initial shock of it wore off. Completely fine. We sorta went back to normal, spending time together. Only now we both had a lot more time on our hands -- I’d been fired by this point. Maybe one thing did change though, I got a little more clingy. I never wanted to let him out of my sight again, never wanted to let go of his hand. Obviously, I had to sometimes, but I stuck by him for quite a while. This lasted a few months before I started to get a bit worried. So, I let us drift apart. For his sake, you know?”

“You thought you would corrupt him if you stuck around?”

“Yup… Or I thought that he didn’t have the guts to tell me to fuck off when I started getting annoying.”

“Why do you think you annoyed him?”

“Just did. Clingy, like I said. If it were up to me, I’d hold his hand for the rest of eternity, but he’s got other things to do. He would-- he would always be the one to break contact, let go of my hand first. Pull away from a hug. Like I said before, I can take a hint. And so, I moved back to my own apartment after a while.”

“How did your life change after that?”

“It got a whole lot more empty, that’s for sure. Without him, I didn’t have anything in the world to do. I was unemployed for the first time in my life. All my usual vices just weren’t doing anything for me anymore… Sometimes, I would find myself just staring at the wall. I couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about all the what-ifs. What if he had died in the fire. What if the last conversation we had was an argument. What if I never got to tell him--” He choked.

“He’s still here. You have a chance to tell him everything you want to.” She spoke calmly, “What would you say to him if he were here right now?” 

“I don’t know if I could say it.” Crowley was never in his life more grateful for his sunglasses. 

“That’s alright, perhaps another time.” And the hour was up.


	3. Chapter 3

Things started to seem normal, they were finding some kind of rhythm. She inquired about his week in a way that an old friend would. And Crowley didn’t mind so much. He supposed that having a breakdown in front of someone made one feel rather close to them. 

“My week’s been, uh, well I didn’t really do much.”

She said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“Last time, well I felt pretty good when I left. Like a weight was lifted, or something. But the next day I just felt shitty. More so than usual. I dunno why, there was really no reason. I just ended up sleeping through the whole week just to get it over with.”

“Unfortunately, that can sometimes happen when one starts therapy. You’ve held so much in, and we’re starting to let it out. It can be overwhelming sometimes, but it’s perfectly normal. How have your symptoms been, have you been having any thoughts of hurting yourself?”

“No. Well, not really. Not thoughts of actually doing it. Just thoughts of it happening, I guess. Dreams and stuff.” 

“Do you know what to do if you feel suicidal again?”

“No, I can’t say that I do… ‘Don’t do it,’ I suppose.”

“Well, yes, but there are numbers you can call.” She quickly wrote down a few phone numbers on a scrap of paper and handed it to him, “There’s my phone, the good samaritans hotline, and 999 of course. Feel free to call any of them, anytime. As for my number, I might not be able to answer, but you can always leave a voicemail on my phone and I’ll reply when I can.”

Crowley took the paper and stared at it.

“We all want to help you, to see you live. You and I can come up with a plan, if you like, to help you when you feel like you might hurt yourself.”

“What kind of a plan?” His eyes never moved from the paper.

“That’s up for you to decide. You can come up with some kind of activity to distract yourself, something incompatible with self-harm.”

“Incompatible?” He thought for a second, “Going for a drive?”

“Maybe not. Might not be the safest thing.”

“Hmm. Going on a walk in the park then. Feeding the ducks.” He suggested.

“Good, that’s a very good idea. Perhaps something else that you could do anywhere or anytime.” She thought for a moment, “You said you were creative as a child, do you draw, Anthony?”

“No,” He said quickly, “Well, maybe a bit.”

“That would be good too.” She wrote it down, “Now, do you have anyone to call if you find the distraction techniques aren’t working?”

“Aziraphale. He’s the only one.”

“Well, Aziraphale, and me and the suicide hotlines.”

“Right.”

She tore a page out of her notepad, and handed the list to him, “Feel free to add to it. This is just a starting point. But keep it with you always, and make sure to go through the list when you feel you might hurt yourself.”

“Right.” He folded the paper and placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Anything else on your mind?”

“Just-- well -- just wondering why I should even bother with all this.”

“What stopped you from committing suicide before?” 

“He wanted me around. Still had to experience things with me. ‘Let’s dine at the Ritz, let’s go to the British Museum, I found this new shop on the corner of’-- whatever, he was always there whenever I came close to-- saved my life, more times than I could count. And I couldn’t save him.” 

“Maybe he doesn’t need you to save him. If nothing else, he just needs you to be around.”

“Oh, he does need me to save him. Always getting himself into trouble.”

“Is that right?”

“He’s too good. He’s the type to… wander down a dark alleyway in the wrong part of town with a shiny new Rolex on his wrist, you know? He would invite a burglar into the back of his shop for some tea and biscuits. He’d be so drawn into a book he wouldn’t notice a fire raging around him…”

“You’re accustomed to looking out for him.”

“Yeah.”

“And how did you feel when you thought that he’d died?”

Crowley shook his head, “Bad, just bad. I’m a failure. I couldn’t do the one thing that he’d done for me so effortlessly. I got completely pissed, I couldn’t deal with it otherwise. It was the end of the world. I wanted to off myself so badly, but I didn’t have the means any longer. So I just drank and drank and drank and drank. I couldn’t stop.”

She suddenly spoke “I think you should get a plant again. Just one for now.” Crowley flinched, which didn’t escape her notice, “Sorry, what went through your mind when I suggested that?”

“Why do you want me to do that?”

“It could be something you’re in control of, something you can be responsible for taking care of. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“They make me cruel.”

“I thought you said your plants made you proud?”

“Yeah, yeah the good ones did. The failures though-- oh that’s another story.”

“Failures?”

“The bad ones. Ones that grew spots, or wilted leaves, or whatever. Ones that weren’t perfect. I wouldn’t just talk to them, I would yell at them. Scream until they grew better. And if they didn’t, well, I’d throw them out. Sometimes down the garbage disposal.” Crowley wondered if he’d said too much as he saw the frantic scratching of her pen. 

“I’m noticing a pattern.” She said, “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“No -- I -- what do you mean?” 

“All the talk about badness, failures, throwing out. It’s all been said before, hasn’t it?”

“Oh.” He sat up, “Shit.”

He was silent until she prompted him again, “What’s going through your head right now?” He was so lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten where he was.

“Uh, I suppose…The plants are me. That’s it, right?” He shot a pleading look to the therapist. 

She nodded, “How you’ve been treated by others informs how you think about yourself. How you think you deserve to be treated. As a child, you get thrown out. You think, well, it couldn’t have been for no reason, right? There must be something about me that deserved to be this hurt. It must be because I’m just a horrible person.”

Crowley nodded.

“Well, you’re not a horrible person. You’re not bad. You’re not unforgivable.”

He nodded again, though much slower.

“Can you tell me what happened the day you got rid of all of your plants?”

At this point, he looked anywhere but the therapist, “Well. I walked in with my plant mister. Same as I always have done. But something was different. Normally, I feel a, sorta warm feeling, you know, in my chest. Something like pride, I guess. The plants were the same, they were as tall and green and gorgeous as always, but I didn’t feel it this time.”

“What did you feel?”

“I felt-- I didn't feel anything. Just empty.” 

“And what happened?”

“I noticed. They all had spots, they all had misshapen leaves or discolourations or wilted leaves or something imperfect. All of them. I was so angry at them. And I -- I smashed them. I couldn’t -- I couldn’t stop. The pots, the plants, everything. All in bits. I didn’t even clean it up, just went to bed and slept and slept and slept…” 

“Why did you feel the need to destroy them?”

“They weren’t perfect. They were all wrong. They -- they had to go.”

“And how did you feel after?”

“So fucking guilty. I couldn’t even look at them. I knew it was wrong, I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I only felt more empty and weird than before. I guess it’s because I was hurting myself indirectly, right? I couldn’t deal with it, I just had to sleep. When I finally woke up, so much time had passed. All the shards and dirt and stuff were all gone. Aziraphale had been by at some point. All that was left was a note telling me to call him when I woke up so that we could grab some dinner like everything was normal.”

“Does that bother you? Acting like everything is normal?”

“Kinda. I mean, I know that feelings aren’t exactly his expertise. Stiff upper lip and all that. It’s like he ignores everything that’s inconvenient, which can be so frustrating sometimes. But then again, if he had mentioned it, I kinda think I woulda blown him off.” 

“I completely understand. You know, if you want to talk about these sorts of things with him, you’re probably going to have to initiate it.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Well, I’ll help you with that whenever you are ready.”


	4. Chapter 4

She gave him the same friendly smile as usual, “How are you?”

“Oh fine, fine.”

“That’s good to hear. I know you were having some trouble last week, if I remember correctly. How have you been this week?”

“Bad. Not quite as bad as last week, though.”

“What was bad about it?”

“Just felt depressed, really. I was tired too. I guess I was okay enough since I didn’t feel like I had to sleep too much. I was just -- just thinking about what we talked about last time. About my plants. How I’m reliving old stuff or whatever. Been thinking about that a lot.”

“Do you want to talk me through your thoughts?”

“Maybe, if you think it’ll help.”

“We’ll only talk about what you want to talk about.”

“Sure, then,” But he didn’t quite know how to start, “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? That’s what I’m doing -- was doing. When I got angry at them.”

“I believe so.”

“You know, it’s very unusual. I can’t really remember anything from back then, when I was young. I remember that it happened, obviously, but not the actual-- thing.”

“That’s not unheard of.”

“Is it? Huh, I thought trauma was supposed to stay with you. PTSD and all that. Aren’t you supposed to get flashbacks and stuff?”

“Trauma can affect people in many different ways. Sometimes people experience dissociation or dreams, though the type of flashbacks they show in movies aren’t actually as common as you’d think. It really depends on the person and the trauma. Memory loss can actually be quite common, especially for cases early in life or long-lasting traumas.” 

“Huh.” He’d always thought that God had just wiped his mind when he fell. Perhaps that was still true, but he wasn’t so sure anymore, “That… That makes sense. Do you think I’d ever be able to remember?”

“I can’t say for sure.” 

“I’m not sure what would be worse, having a blank space where years of memory should be or never being able to stop thinking about it.”

“I know it’s hard, but it’s okay to not remember.” 

“Is it though? I mean, how can I get over it if I can’t even remember what it is I need to get over?”

“Well, I know you can’t remember the events themselves, but can you remember the emotions involved?”

“Maybe… Think so.” He closed his eyes, “I remember … anger -- from them. Huge, huge feelings of anger. It was terrifying, the wrath. I was-- well I was confused mostly. Guilty, oh, definitely guilty. Terrified. All that. Didn’t know that people who were supposed to love you could hurt you so bad.” 

“Tell me what you feel in your body right now.”

“My, uh, my chest is tightening.”

“It’s okay, Anthony. Take a deep breath. Hold it for seven seconds, and exhale for eight seconds. Relax your shoulders.” He did, and some tension began to leave him, “What happened to you is not your fault.”

“But I caused it. I broke the rules, I-I wasn’t perfect.”

“No person is perfect. No one. And that’s okay. To make you feel this awful about not achieving the impossible is, frankly, quite cruel.” 

A laugh forced itself out of Crowley. Blasphemy! He thought. “They were quite cruel, weren’t they?”

“Maybe they’re the bad ones, not you, huh?”

He laughed even harder. She joined in. He felt sorta good for the first time in a while. When they both calmed down, he checked his watch. There was still a good chunk of time left in his session. “Is there still time to get into something completely different?”

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve had some thoughts about Aziraphale. I haven’t told him anything, really, about all this therapy stuff. I want to, but I haven’t. Haven’t even talked to him, not for a while.”

“What’s been stopping you?”

“Last time I spoke to him, I was in the middle of a panic attack. Before my second therapy session. I guess I kinda feel embarrassed about that.”

“Why do you feel embarrassed?”

“I just know I sounded so desperate and pathetic over the phone. And I know him well enough to know exactly how he’d react. He would look at me all pitifully. You know? He would talk very slowly, very carefully, like I’d break if he said the wrong thing. I don’t want him to act like that. I just want things to be like they always were.”

“You know what would help?”

“What?”

“If you talked to him. If you expressed all this.”

“Right…” 

“He obviously cares for you. He was the one to suggest you get help. I think he would listen. He wouldn’t think you’re broken.”

“I don’t even know what I’d say.”

“Whatever you want to tell him, you can always practice it here first, if you like.”

“Alright.” Crowley closed his eyes and leaned forward on his knees. His heart skipped a beat as he imagined Aziraphale sitting in front of him, “Aziraphale. We have to talk… No that would worry him too much.” 

“Don’t worry about that yet. Just say whatever comes to mind. You can always edit it later.” 

“Right, right… Angel. I want to say something, and you don’t have to say anything back to me, if you like.” He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry about everything. For making you worry, for avoiding you recently. Don’t be too smug, but you were completely right. You were right about me not being alright. I’ve got -- I’ve got depression. But, I’m working on it now. You’re the most important person in my life, I hope you know that. You’ve always been. It’s just -- I worry about you too. I don’t want you to fall--” He shot open his eyes to see if she caught onto his slip up, but her expression didn’t change, “I mean I don’t want to get you… fired. I’d love to stay with you for all of time, but sometimes I think you’d be better off without me. All those times where we weren’t talking, you got by just fine, didn’t you? I just fall apart without you. I just love you so--” Crowley abruptly shut his mouth.

“You fall apart?” She questioned softly.

“Yeah. Like, for example, there was one time we got into a fight. And we both said we didn’t need each other, but only one of us really meant it. He had a lovely time away from me. Joined a club, learned to dance, made loads of friends. I just… slept until we started talking again.”

“It sounds like you’re very dependent on him.”

“Yeah. There’s never been anyone else.”

“Maybe you should get to know a few other people.”

Crowley shook his head, “No. I don’t want anyone else.”

“I’m not suggesting replacing him. I’m just saying there can be more than one person in your life. There’s no reason why you can’t have him and a few friendships. If he’s your only one, that’s not healthy. Not for you or for him.”

“Yeah. Suppose so.”

“That doesn’t mean that he can’t be your best friend or even something more.”

Crowley considered this, “How does one even-- How do you make friends? Gah, I sound pathetic, don’t I?”

“Not at all, Anthony. Perhaps try what he did: join a club. Open yourself up to the possibility of finding friends and just let it happen. It might not happen quickly, but that’s alright. How do you feel about everything else you said?” 

“Pretty good, actually. Once I got started it all came out quite naturally. Not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Do you think you can talk to him?”

“You know, I think I can.”


	5. Chapter 5

The other clients in the waiting room felt inexplicably more at ease the second Crowley walked in. He brought some kind of strange occult energy with him. Some of the people even started wearing soft smiles as they browsed through their phones. It was most unusual, but Crowley hardly noticed it. He was too busy thinking about all he had to brag about.

His strut to the office was triumphant. 

“You seem in good spirits today.” Dr. Joyce stated. 

“Oh yeah, for sure. Had a busy week. I got out of the house!”

“Glad to hear it, Anthony.” She smiled.

“Just wait for it -- you’ll be so pleased. I joined a club!”

“How wonderful.”

“I found a community gardening center close by the flat, so I signed myself up. Huge waiting list, but by some miracle, I got the perfect patch. All for me. And beauty is, can’t exactly shout at them when there’s other people around. It’s incompatible! And, two birds, one stone: I can even make friends with all those other people. It’s perfect.” Crowley grinned. He was really killing this therapy thing. 

“Sounds lovely. One thing though…”

“What?” His voice faltered 

“What are you going to do when your plants aren’t perfect?”

He scoffed, “Well, I won’t throw them away. Or I wasn’t planning on it, anyway. That’s what I’m supposed to do, right?”

“I know. But it’s one thing to make plans when you feel good, it’s quite another when you actually have the leaf spot in front of you, no?”

“I think I can handle a leaf spot.” He said quietly.

“I think you can too, but remissions happen. What are you going to do if you find yourself losing control again?” 

“I won’t.”

“It’s alright if you do.”

“I won’t!… I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“I am. Anthony, this is wonderful news. I am very pleased for you, but I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations about your recovery. It’s quite alright to plan for if things don’t go perfectly.”

He breathed a sigh, “I guess you’re right.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Well, I’ve been drawing when I feel out of control, like you suggested a while back. It … it really helps me. Honestly, I like it a lot. Especially when I pair it with music. I think I could keep doing that. There, that’s my plan.”

“Yes, that’s very good.” 

“Damn right.”

“And did you talk to Aziraphale yet?”

Crowley’s mood soured. “No.”

“That’s okay. You’ll have to talk to him eventually, but only when you’re ready.”

“I’ve been thinking, I’m not so sure about that whole thing. I don’t know if I want to go through with it.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“It’s-- well, it’s difficult.”

“What is?”

“Just -- starting things again with him. What if he doesn’t want to speak to me? And I know we’re not speaking now, but, it’s kind of ineffable at the moment, and that’s different to if he says he doesn’t want to speak to me. What if I look like an idiot trying to get him back? What if things are never the same between us? What if he thinks I’m broken? I don’t know if I’m ready for any of that.”

“That’s a lot of what-ifs, Anthony. So, let’s say all that happens, what then?”

“Well… it would be bad. Wouldn’t it?”

“Why?”

“I would feel bad. I would feel fucking terrible, in fact.”

“You would. And then, you would manage it. You would get through it, find someone else, and you would be okay.” 

“But why do I have to go through that at all. Why can’t I just let things stay the way they are.”

“You can’t let your relationship sit in ineffability forever. It’s hurting you.”

“No. No, I’m fine. I was fucking happy when I came here.” 

“Yes, but not a stable happiness. One mention of Aziraphale was all it took to upset you, and I think we should discuss why that is--”

“You didn’t have to mention him!”

“Look, I’m sorry for upsetting you, and I understand your trepidation, but one way or another, you’ll have to confront--”

“I don’t need this!”

Crowley ended his therapy session thirty minutes early, he stormed out before she could say anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

Some weeks had passed, and Crowley had canceled two appointments. Dr. Joyce was rather worried he might not come back at all, but the third scheduled session was approaching, and there was no word from Crowley. When the therapist walked out to the waiting room on the day, he was there. 

There was a moment of awkwardness, but it was only a moment. They both apologized. Dr. Joyce didn’t say the f-word (forgive), but Crowley knew that she was thinking it. And, more importantly, he was fine with it.

Crowley began the session proper, “It’s been a while.”

“It has. How are you?”

“I’ve been doing quite okay, actually. I want to -- I want to start coming back every week. I think I’m ready to.”

“I’m very glad to hear that. I’m sorry again for making you feel like you couldn’t come back.”

Crowley shook his head, “No, not at all. You were right. I mean, that’s not the first time I’ve run away from my problems. But, I want to face them now. I want to get better.”

“What were you feeling after you left last time?”

“I felt guilty for leaving like that and yelling at you. I thought, you know, there you go being a bad person again. But also I was sorta betrayed, I guess, or I felt like it. I thought I was doing so well, I actually believed I was happy, and suddenly you made me realize it wasn’t real. It was just like a flashy distraction. And I realized that’s what I thought happiness was for so long, and then… it wasn’t real all of a sudden.”

“It’s quite alright. It’s what you were used to doing, that’s how you always coped. But it doesn’t have to be the way you always cope going forward.”

“I really hope so. I don’t want to fall apart so easily anymore.” 

She nodded. “How have you been spending your time since our last appointment?”

“Well, I actually got myself to return to the garden. My plants are starting to sprout. It’s easy not to yell at them, at least for now. They’re just the tiniest things, but… I think I feel it, or I’m starting to.”

“What do you feel?”

“It. The feeling, here.” He pointed to his heart, “The one I lost.” 

Her face practically glowed. So did Crowley’s.

“And, I’ve been talking to Aziraphale again. Slowly. I’m just easing myself back into it. I haven’t had the Big Chat with him yet, the one I’m planning. But it’ll happen soon. We’ve been talking about, you know, normal stuff.” 

“How’s that been?”

“It’s good. Comfortable. We even went out to eat. I guess we’ve drifted together and apart so often it’s actually quite easy to fall back into normal.”

“Do you feel worried?”

“Sometimes. A bit. But I remind myself, ‘if I had something that would make him leave, he would have seen it long ago.’ And I still feel worried, but not so much.”

“Wonderful, talking back to your anxiety. That’s exactly what I love to hear”

“Hah, yeah. And I realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s not good. Not completely. I put him on a pedestal; he was perfection in my eyes. I didn’t want to think that he could do any wrong. But really, he’s not perfect. He gets scared and sad and angry, sometimes for the wrong reasons. And, he can be a right bastard when he wants to be. And that’s just what he’s always been like, I didn’t make him that way. He’s just -- not perfect.”

She smiled, “Nothing’s ever so simple, right?”

He looked down at his hands “Just like I’m not… bad.” And then more conviction, “I’m not a bad person. Maybe I’m not good, but I’m not bad either. I’m just me: imperfect. And that’s okay. That’s enough.” 

“Yes, it is.”


	7. Epilogue

Crowley’s heart was pounding, his eyes never left the bookshop floor the whole time he spoke. He’d said it. He’d said it all, and more that he didn’t even plan on admitting. And he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to feel comfortable. 

“Oh, my dear.” Crowley heard such softness in that voice.

He felt something shift in the air beside him. When he looked up, he realized Aziraphale had moved to sit on the couch next to him.

Crowley thought he might have been imagining it. Until -- suddenly Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s quivering hand. He initiated the contact, and he didn’t pull away when Crowley held it tighter. They sat hand-in-hand, for just a moment. 

Crowley’s hopes started to crumble when Aziraphale began moving, as he thought he might be pulling away again. But something quite unimaginable was happening instead. Aziraphale slowly brought the hand up to his lips. The kiss was so gentle, but the force of it completely smashed any doubts in Crowley’s mind. It was forgiveness, unconditional love, an apology, a vow, and everything else that had gone unsaid in six thousand years. 

For the first time, he actually believed that things were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you so much for following this through to the end. This was the first fanfiction I’ve ever written, and I was honestly terrified to post it. In the end, I’m really, really glad I did. Thank you all for your lovely comments and for all the kudos each chapter. The response has been so encouraging and really overwhelming! I just have to say thank you for letting me share my love of Good Omens! Have a wonderful day :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reflect What You Are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21440182) by [BeatriceAlighieri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatriceAlighieri/pseuds/BeatriceAlighieri)




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